Fantasy
by Kate Christie
Summary: Sometimes reality is immeasurably better than the best his subconscious can come up with. One-shot. Plot? What plot?  Seriously.  One tiny reference to "Pandora." And yes, this is rated M.


Fantasy

**A/N: If I weren't naming alphabetically, this would be titled "Sweeter dreams." Vaguely inspired by one of my own lines from chapter seven of "Enlightenment," and containing one tiny reference to "Pandora," but otherwise has no connection to anything. Because sometimes on Friday, you just need a little jump start for the weekend. This is M for a reason.**

As she rose from the pool, water sluicing down her golden suit, droplets clinging and sparkling on her lashes, she met his eyes. Her lips parted slightly in a sultry smile, and she strode across to his lounge chair. She wasted no time with preamble or pleasantries, but sat on his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and took his mouth with hers. Her tongue stroked along the seam of his lips until he parted them, granting her entrance. There was nothing he wouldn't grant her right now. She was devouring him; the most glorious little moans were escaping into his mouth. Before he knew what he was doing, he had his arms around her, pulling her tight to his chest, finding every inch of exposed skin, stroking, memorizing. When she arched against him, he let out a deep groan.

He jerked with the sense of landing from a long fall, eyes opening, taking in the dark room, the pillow under his cheek, the blue digital display of his alarm clock showing 1:24. He was in his bed. No bathing suit or swimming pool or LA sunshine in sight. The one common thread between what must have been a dream and his current reality was the feel of Kate, wrapped snugly in his arms. She was stirring slightly. Oh god, her hips brushed back against his and he realized there was one more common thread between his dream and his present "situation." He didn't think he'd woken up this aroused from a dream since he was 15 years old.

"Hey, you OK?" she asked sleepily.

She didn't turn over, just turned her head to the right to peer up at him over her shoulder.

"I was dreaming. Sorry I woke you." His voice was gravelly and low, maybe she would assume it was from sleep.

She chuckled slightly and seemed to recognize his state of arousal as she came more fully awake.

"Must have been a pretty good dream there, Rick…" She purposefully rolled her hips back into his erection.

"Let me guess, something about Sofia and 'all the coolest toys?'"

"Very funny. You know very well that the only person who could do this—" he reached down with his right hand to cover her hip, pulled her back, and ground against her, eliciting a small moan from one, or maybe both, of them "—is you. Remember that bathing suit you wore in LA last year?"

"Mmm hmm."

She reached down and covered his hand with hers, then guided them up her body to cup her breast. He felt her nipple pebbled against his palm and pressed it lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

"Rick, it would be a shame to waste your current level of enthusiasm, don't you think." He loved the bedroom voice.

"I think you have a brilliant, if somewhat dirty, mind," he whispered directly into her ear and then blew warm breath there, causing her to shiver and tuck her ear down closer to her shoulder to escape.

His left arm had been trapped under her, wrapped around her waist all this time, but now he slid that hand up to palm her other breast. His lips found her favorite spot under her hair on the nape of her neck. That earned him a gasp and another roll of her hips.

"You're wearing too many clothes." With one final gentle squeeze, he disengaged his hands to remedy the problem, sliding her soft cotton sleep pants down her hips, taking her underwear with them. He wasted no time in shedding his boxers and t-shirt while she slid out of her tank top.

Kate started to turn and face him, but he placed his hand over her hip and guided her to stay as she was, on her side facing away from him. As he slid back in behind her, fitting his body to the curves and planes of hers, he slid his hand further down the front of her thigh and tugged her leg backward to drape it over his. His fingers and palm pressed into her flesh as he retraced his path back up to her hip, along the curve of her waist, and across to just below her belly button. He attached his lips to her shoulder blade, caressing the soft skin with the flat of his tongue.

She reached over her shoulder, running her fingers through his hair, holding his lips in place and letting out a little sigh.

His fingers dipped lower, brushing through her curls and skirting around her center. He slid one finger lightly along her folds and his arousal ratcheted up a notch, if that was possible. She was soaking wet. Maybe he wasn't the only one having sweet dreams tonight. As his fingers delved inside her, she arched into his hand.

"Oh God, you feel so good."

He withdrew and circled her clit lightly with the pad of his finger, coating it with moisture and eliciting a gasp.

He shifted his body down to align himself behind her and took himself in hand to position his tip at her entrance. He shifted his hips and with one smooth thrust he advanced inside her, her name escaping his lips on a staccato exhale.

She was so warm and wet and snug around him, he wanted to bury himself inside her and never leave. He'd made love with this woman so many times, but this moment of rightness was always a shock.

They fit together, and it was more than just physical. He'd never felt so hyper-aware of a woman in bed before his first time with Kate. Now he couldn't remember what sex had been like before her. The give and take, the desire to satisfy every needy little noise that escaped her, the wave of love that crested and reflected off of him when they climaxed together—as cliché as it sounded, he thought maybe now he understood the distinction between having good sex and truly making love.

He felt her relax into him when she'd had time to adjust, and he began to move, setting an easy, languid rhythm. His fingers returned to her center, circling her swollen nub, alternating light caresses with firmer pressure. Her hips bucked back against him as he thrust, but then as if she couldn't decide which was the most necessary contact, she pulled her hips forward to press into his hand.

From this angle, his movements were shallow but effective, if the rate of her breathing was any indication. Her eyes were shut tight, pink lips parted, fingers gripping the pillow, clenching and unclenching as she gasped. As he nibbled along her spine and across to her upper arm, he saw her press the flat of her palm against her own breast and growled, speeding his rhythm slightly.

He needed more… leverage… and maybe more hands. He used his own thigh to guide hers forward so that her knee was bracing her against the bed. At the same time, he shifted his hips to press her pelvis down into the mattress his knees spreading between hers and taking some of his weight. His hand stayed trapped between her pelvis and the bed, fingers pressed into her clit. With gravity to help him, he thrust more deeply inside her, driving her center into his hand and making her cry out.

"Oh Rick, god, don't stop."

She had more control of their rhythm like this, and she pressed herself down into his hand with every thrust, speeding their pace.

She was letting a little breathy gasp escape at the start of every panting breath out. When the gasps escalated to a high-pitched quiet little "Oh!" with every thrust, he felt the first tingles of his climax begin to curl at the base of his spine.

Her voice dropped a full octave, and the rhythm of her hips faltered.

"Yes, oh… I'm so… close."

He was driving into her, holding on to the last shreds of his control, when he felt her walls shudder around him and heard her whimper. He called out her name as he gave in to his release, pouring himself into her and chanting words of love against the soft skin of her shoulder.

He pushed against the last clench of her aftershocks, forcing a desperate little cry from her lips and exhausting his arms. As she collapsed fully into the mattress, he covered her body with his boneless, sated weight. He reached under her and curled his arms around her waist, kissing beads of sweat off the flushed skin of her neck. Damp chestnut tendrils clung to her back where he laid his cheek, panting until he could slow his breathing enough to sigh cool air across her skin.

When she'd gotten her breathing back under control, she spoke, though it was with a distracted, breathy tone he only ever heard in bed (or occasionally on countertops).

"You know, sweetheart, I have lots of swimsuits. I'm thinking we should join a pool."


End file.
